


Lullabies for Sweet Dreams

by abirbcalledcrow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Draco Speaks French, Fluff, Harry loves the children, M/M, Potioneer Draco Malfoy, Teacher Harry Potter, Very fluffy, and is bad at cooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:14:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29752545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abirbcalledcrow/pseuds/abirbcalledcrow
Summary: Harry was drifting, feeling warm and contented and relaxed, happily curled up. Just before he drifted off, he got the distinct feeling of home.ORpure, tooth-rotting fluff inspired by someone on twitter! I just wanted to write something domestic (:
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, drarry- relationship
Kudos: 47





	Lullabies for Sweet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you thank you thank you @popperchyk on twitter for inspiration! This is my first fic for this fandom but I think it's nice (:

Everything was exhausting these days. It was harder to keep leaving his home every day and pretending that everything was okay, that Harry didn’t want to curl up in a ball under the toasty down blanket and hide from all of his problems. He didn’t want to look in the mirror and face the fact that he still had his scars, his dark circles. 

Sometimes, the only thing that dragged Harry out of bed was Draco. As prideful as the both of them were, Harry was easily able to admit that, at least to himself. Harry often thought about the crashing waves of relief he’d felt when Draco had told him that he’d stay- he wouldn’t go to France with his mother. Once, Harry would have felt guilty for keeping Draco here, where people hated him. It’d taken reassurances that Draco was _happy_ to be with Harry, that he was glad to be wanted here, to let go of those thoughts.

Obviously, that didn’t make everything better. People still saw only the surface of what Draco had been- a Death Eater. They never bothered to see what was underneath, only Harry really had. He’d seen a kid- a child- who loved his family more than anything else, who’d been scared. Harry saw someone who didn’t think they had a choice.

It wasn’t uncommon for Harry to remind himself that not everyone had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy. Most people saw his prickly exterior, his dry sarcasm, his haughty words, and took them at face value. But Harry saw a man who got him out of bed every morning, who made omelettes while complaining that Harry was a dead weight, who held Harry while he cried for all that had been lost.

So, anyway. Clearly, Harry could wax poetic about the wonder and beauty of Draco Malfoy. But he did have to get up, and he did have to go to his job. Not that he’d do it willingly- no, he’d kick and scream the whole way there.

Out of all the people, Harry felt like he was the most surprised when he’d quit being an Auror. Hermione had just smiled gently in that _way_ of hers, then asked what he wanted to do instead. Ron grinned and nodded when Harry had told him that he was quitting.

“ _Yeah mate, you complain about everything there, down to the way they organize their papers_ ,” he’d said brightly, not at all how Harry had expected. Of course, Harry had begun to protest, trying to explain just _how_ illogical the organization system was, before cutting off and groaning because Ron was right. 

As for Draco? He’d been perhaps the least surprised. He’d just arched an eyebrow and said, “ _Finally. I can’t explain how annoying it was to have you constantly getting into danger after the war is over_ .” Harry stared at him, gaping. “ _Very eloquent, Potter_.”

And Harry was happier now, he really was! No matter how many Daily Prophet headlines said that he hated teaching, that the curse of the defense position was striking back, he truly did enjoy watching the kids figure out a new spell and the gratification as they beamed up at him was surpassed by nothing. That did not, of course, mean that it wasn’t an exhausting job. Sometimes Harry just wanted to let someone else take over, to hide from all of the annoyances and not have to worry about one of the kids setting something on fire doing a shielding charm.

Maybe the worst- or maybe best? Harry wasn’t sure- the thing about his job was the walk up from Hogsmead to the castle. Harry was the only professor who didn’t live in the castle besides Firenze, but he lived in the Forbidden Forest. Obviously, Harry could’ve lived in the castle. It would’ve made his life a lot easier. Fewer opportunities to lose student’s essays, more interaction with his colleagues, and he’d be able to wake up earlier.

The trade-off, however, was not something that Harry was willing to give up. No matter how much he whinged and moaned about having to walk up to the castle every day, coming home to Draco, face buried in notes about a new potion, or reading a book curled up on the couch, or making some sort of recipe that was almost guaranteed to be inedible, was more than he’d ever been able to hope for earlier in life. It provided Harry a deep-seated sort of relief, coming home to something utterly domestic and stupid and purely _theirs_. Sometimes Harry would be able to walk up behind Draco and playfully point out the food burning in a pan, often accompanied by a playful jab at his ability to cook anything other than eggs, and it was nice. It was nice in a way that Harry would never be able to explain. It was safe

But even beyond all of that, there was one thing that Harry would never ever give up, not even for all the galleons in Gringotts or the highest position at the Ministry of Magic (not that he wanted that, anyways). It was something that always made him smile, that always fanned the low ember of happiness that’d taken up residence in his gut. Today was one of those days.

It started when Harry walked out of the floo, brushing soot off of his robes, tiredness creasing his eyes but happiness obvious in the small smile on his face.

“I’m home, dearest,” he called out, a small smirk playing on his face.

“Call me dearest again and I’m going to shove this quill up your arse so far that you’ll be tasting ink for days,” came the answering threat almost immediately. Harry let out a genuine laugh at that and ambled into the study, dropping his bag on a couch.

“Rough day?” He leaned on the doorframe, still smirking slightly. The study was lit on orange tones, washing softly over the messy desk. Several papers were strewn about, herbs and some uncommon potion ingredients scattered about as well. And then, of course, there was Draco. His white-blond hair was curled slightly and falling into his face, likely from water vapor coming off of cauldrons. He gripped a quill like it’d personally offended him, staring at the papers uncomprehendingly.

“I’m ready to lose my fucking mind. I’m _this_ close,” Draco held up two fingers to demonstrate, “to understanding why this isn’t working. This close! But it keeps evading me! I’ve been chasing myself in circles all day, and Eva sent me home after saying, and I quote, ‘you’re going to burst a blood vessel if you agonize over this for a second longer’. I’m not going to burst a blood vessel!” He threw his arms up in exasperation and then slumped forwards, knocking a bundle of some sort of dried flowers off the corner of the desk.

“And you responded to this by… continuing to agonize over it?” The amusement was clear in Harry’s voice as he pushed off the door frame and ambled over to Draco, lifting the poor quill to safety.

“I’m so close! So close, Harry,” Draco complained. “There’s just- just _something_ that I’m missing!” He slumped forwards just a bit further and Harry gently set down the quill.

“I’m making dinner and I require your very necessary input on how much pepper to use,” was all he replied, stifling a giggle at how quickly Draco popped up, outrage on his face.

As he walked to the kitchen, Draco’s voice followed indignantly. “I’ll have you know, Potter, that I am an incredibly good chef and my contributions are very useful. I’m insulted that you’d insinuate anything else, to be honest.”

“Sure, pumpkin snaps,” Harry deadpanned, practically hearing Draco puff up in anger.

“If you make _one more_ bloody fucking stupid pet name about me, I will finish what the D- Voldemort started,” he cried, dramatically draping himself over Harry as he reached into the spice cabinet. “I have very little emotional attachment to you, I’ll have you know. No trouble at all to get rid of you.” A small part of Harry’s brain was so proud of both of them that they could make jokes like that, but he couldn’t voice it under threat of death for being sappy.

“Draco, if Voldemort couldn’t kill me what makes you think that you could?” Harry huffed, detaching a very tired Draco Malfoy from his back and pulling a pan out of the bottom cabinet.

“If my memory serves, he actually did kill you, you’re just too stubborn to die,” Draco responded smugly, settling into a chair. The entire kitchen was warming up just by them being in it and Harry took a moment to appreciate how much more lived in it had felt than when he’d first moved in. The entirety of Grimmauld Place was much nicer after Draco had attacked it with his single-minded determination to rid it of anything dark or dreary. At first, Harry had wanted to sell the old house and forget it. It was Draco’s insistence that the memories were too important that’d convinced him to keep it, and Harry was glad for it.

“Are you saying that you’re disappointed that I came back?” Harry teased, turning on the stove and sighing at the vegetables. He’d almost started chopping them by hand, but instead, wordlessly flicked his wand with an incantation that Molly taught him a while back. The work was nearly mindless, having done this dozens of times. It was achingly domestic and Harry sometimes refused to acknowledge that it was all real, that he really won. It was all his. He had this moment, the smell of cooking meat filling the air, the man he loved slumped over at a table, making snarky comments, a job he loved every day.

The one time he vocalized that feeling, Hermione grabbed his face with concern pulling the edges of her features. 

“ _Harry, if you don’t deserve this, who does? You fought for this future, you_ died _for it. Of course, you deserve it,_ ” she finished with an air of finality. Whenever Harry started to feel that way, he tried to remember her words. They made sense on a surface level, but some deep part of Harry rejected it, insisted that he wasn’t deserving of this happiness.

“You’re drifting, love.” Draco’s voice cut through the spiral of thoughts, and he pushed out of the chair to nudge Harry’s elbow. “And burning our dinner, which is very rude.”

“How come I can’t call _you_ love, but you can say it to me?” Harry grumbled, but started actively participating in the present again, taking the pan off the heat.

“It’s a matter of principle. I look good saying it, you don’t.” The smugness was evident in Draco’s voice and Harry pushed down an irrational flicker of irritation. Merlin, he was tired.

Apparently, he didn’t cover the expression fast enough, because the next thing he knew Harry was being shepherded away from the stove and a plate was being gently set in front of him, along with a brand of wine that Draco insisted was superior.

“You need to start punishing those cretins for tiring you out every day,” Draco chided because _of course_ , he knew what was wrong. “They spend more of your energy than criminals did.” Draco was finishing the dinner and Harry couldn’t even find it in himself to make a crack about food poisoning as he sipped the wine, a small bubble of amusement forming in his stomach.

“If you’re really concerned about it, why don’t you come into work and discipline them for me?” He offered, feeling a little flutter of happiness at how Draco threw back his head and laughed.

“You won’t get me near those little beasts unless you _imperio_ me. Children scare me. Plus, Eva would kill me for leaving her to manage the shop.” While talking, Draco maneuvered the food into the plates already set on the table with a few flicks of his wand and settled across from Harry, grinning. His frustration at the evasive potion ingredient seemed to have dissipated to be replaced with concern for Harry.

“You’re really scared of your own employee?” Harry knew full well that Eva was terrifying when she wanted to be, but as he took a bite of the (thankfully not burned) food, he couldn’t help the jab at Draco.

“I’d be in ruins without her, of course I don’t want to get on her bad side,” Draco muttered petulantly, refusing to acknowledge their mutual fear of the shop assistant. Harry just grinned, almost too tired to keep up the banter. 

After a beat of silence, Harry looked up to see concern creasing Draco’s eyebrows. “You really are wiped out, then? If you truly do want, I can come get you some silence in the school day,” he offered, a glint of humour in his eyes masking most of his worry.

“You’d get arrested for putting a lip-locking curse on all of them, dearest.” The immediate wrinkle of disgust was well worth the light smack that Harry’s poor arm received. He made a point of shoving as many useless pet names into conversation as possible, just to test Draco’s limits.

“That’s it, off to bed with you. You’re clearly delirious with sleep deprivation. No grading inane essays tonight, healer’s orders,” Draco declared, lifting Harry to his feet and starting to tug him in the direction of their shared bedroom.

“And I’m supposed to trust you on medical advice? On sleeping? Mr. I-had-to-drug-myself-to-sleep-that-one-time?” The tips of Draco’s ears flushed red and he rolled his eyes.

“It was _one_ time, and I sleep more than you, somehow. Perhaps it’s because I don’t get up at dawn just to see a group of horrendous children,” Draco admonished. He pushed the door to their room open, leaving Harry to close the window blinds and sighed, hands on his hips. Harry stood there, blinking blearily.

“I get up after the sun rises, Draco.” Huffing, Draco shook his head.

“That’s besides the point, you exhausted oaf. I’m going to brush my teeth because I have a basic sense of hygiene,” he announced, and Harry watched him go confusedly. He pulled on a comfortable sweatshirt and a worn pair of joggers, crawling into bed but feeling as though he didn’t have the energy to get under the covers, simply curling up and sighing contentedly.

The creaking of the floorboards didn’t even register to him until the bed dipped and a warm weight was pressed against his side, a hand carding through his still-untameable hair. After a moment of contented silence, someone’s voice filled the air, singing.

_À la claire fontaine_

_M'en allant promener,_

_J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle_

_Que je m'y suis baignée._

_Il y a longtemps que je t'aime_

_Jamais je ne t'oublierai._

_Sous les feuilles d'un chêne_

_Je me suis fait sécher,_

_Sur la plus haute branche,_

_Un rossignol chantait._

_Il y a longtemps que je t'aime_

_Jamais je ne t'oublierai._

_Chante, rossignol, chante,_

_Toi qui as le cœur gai._

_Tu as le cœur à rire,_

_Moi, je l'ai à pleurer._

_Il y a longtemps que je t'aime_

_Jamais je ne t'oublierai._

_J'ai perdu mon ami_

_Sans l'avoir mérité,_

_Pour un bouquet de roses_

_Que je lui refusai._

_Il y a longtemps que je t'aime_

_Jamais je ne t'oublierai._

_Je voudrais que la rose_

_Fût encore au rosier_

_Et que mon doux ami_

_Fût encore à m'aimer_

Harry was drifting, feeling warm and contented and relaxed, happily curled up. Just before he drifted off, he got the distinct feeling of _home_.

**Author's Note:**

> The lullaby that Draco sings is À la claire fontaine, which is very pretty and I think you should all listen to it!! I really hope you enjoyed reading and it would mean a lot to me if you'd drop a kudos or comment!! :D


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